


Double Trouble

by Ser_Thirst_A_Lot



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adventure, Bijuu Shenanigans, Friendship, Humor, I kid you not the whole of Fire Country trembles they're THAT feral, Jutsu Gone Wrong, Kid Fic, M/M, On the Run, de-aged Tobirama and Madara, flaily!Madara, hyperactive!Tobirama, the ultimate chaotic duo, yeah Tobi breaks spacetime and the result?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot/pseuds/Ser_Thirst_A_Lot
Summary: Madara accidentally activates Tobirama's experimental jutsu which de-ages them both into their teens, and to keep Hashirama from finding out, they decide to run away.Chaos ensues. Hashirama despairs. Fire Country trembles.The bijuu, meanwhile, are intrigued.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 84
Kudos: 501





	1. Hide and Seek I: Tobirama

**Author's Note:**

> annnnd another ridiculous fic from me about the many chaotic adventures of the ultimate chaotic murder kids duo that is de-aged MadaTobi XD Now, a few **warnings** about this fic although no AO3 warnings actually apply:  
> > NO UNDERAGE in this fic in any shape or form and their relationship as kids is purely platonic fluff  
> > THAT SAID there may or may not be awkward boners when Madara's memories of _adult_ Tobirama get his 16 yo puberty-stricken self hot and bothered and 13 yo Tobi may or may not be confused about the bulge in his pants ~ similar shenanigans  
> > hence there are pre-slash undertones to this, mostly regarding their (hazy) memories of the other's adult version cause lol as adults they had super repressed feelings towards each other  
> > if any such things bother you, skip over this :3 if it's cool -  
> enjoy the read! <3

“Fuck,” Tobirama rasps, as the smoke disperses along with the bone-chilling effect of the jutsu, finally letting him breathe.

“Fuck!” he repeats, as he realizes he’s speaking in the slightly throaty voice he hadn’t heard from himself since he was a teenager.

“Oh, _fuck._ ”

Tobirama hears coughing beside him, and another chill runs through him—not because of the jutsu this time. He chances to open his eyes and look to his side to see…

Madara.

Madara, who’s looking much younger than he’s supposed to be, is sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily and coughing up dust. Broken vials and torn scrolls and notes lie strewn around him as he tries to regain his breath and fumbles with the clothes that are suddenly too big for his lanky form. He sits up, looking at Tobirama through squinted eyelids.

“Senju,” he snarls, “what _the fuck_ have you done?”

He sounds and looks far less threatening, what with his much higher voice, rounder cheeks and much shorter mess of black hair. The fact doesn’t do much to quell Tobirama’s mounting panic, however.

Tobirama sprints to his feet and starts pacing, picking up every (intact) scrap of paper he can see related to the jutsu that just went _horribly, terribly wrong_ and sweet gods, _is this finally the day Anija is going to kill me?_ Tobirama hopes not. Knowing his Anija, his version of punishment would be something far worse than death, like permanent house arrest or a ban on experimentation altogether. He shudders. Death by boredom is a torture Tobirama never wants to experience.

But it should be fine. It _will_ be fine. He’s smart. He can fix this.

Right?

Now if only the haze in his brain would go away and he regained all his knowledge and memories of his adult self… At this point, though, it’s just a convoluted mess of disconnected images, some more vivid than others, some far too foggy for Tobirama to discern. One particular memory seems recent, of Madara walking past the steel entrance to his lab in a gaping yukata. Tobirama doesn’t understand why the _gaping_ part seems important, but his mind latches onto that fact, for some reason.

It’s all far too confusing.

“Senju, I repeat,” Madara says, “what _the fuck_ is going on?”

Tobirama turns to look at him, finding Madara tangled even more in his clothes, fuming visibly. His black eyes glare at Tobirama as intensely as he’s used to seeing from Madara’s as an adult.

“AND WHY AM I SIXTEEN?”

“It’s not my fault!” Tobirama cringes at his voice again. He hopes he won’t have to get used to it. For some reason he can’t quite place, the prospect of reliving his teen years _again_ sounds like a nightmare. “I told you _not_ to touch anything.”

“It was just an open scroll! Or, I-I think…” Madara closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember!”

“My memory’s hazy too,” Tobirama admits, frantically perusing the papers in his hands, looking for the answer he knows he won’t find in his notes on the _unfinished, experimental jutsu he’d abandoned years ago._ “This is bad. This is _so_ bad.” He takes a deep breath. “Anija’s going to kill me.”

“Not before I get you first, bastard!” Madara makes to shove at Tobirama, but trips on the hems of his breeches. “Godsdammit!”

He tries for a punch, but Tobirama dodges easily, navigating with his own meddlesome attire a few steps away.

“ _Fucking Senju_ ,” Madara growls, circling to face him again, “don’t think I need my full power to kick your idiotic ass! Now if you don’t _get your shit together_ and turn us back to normal _this instant_ —"

Normally, from what Tobirama recalls from his adult life, he’d be downright pissed at Madara for speaking to him like this. Not in any serious way—Madara seemed to get on his nerves the same as Anija did, prompting anger of the exasperated variety, rather than anything truly malicious. But still, there’s a hint of something akin to _hurt_ or _disappointment_ or… Tobirama shakes off the confusing sensation and sighs, tuning out the increasingly loud screeching Madara seems to have chosen in place of physical violence.

It’s amusing to listen to the way Madara’s voice tends to break at times as he tries and fails to mask it by clearing his throat. Tobirama looks through the notes in his hands again.

And again.

They say doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results may well be a sign of madness. Or stupidity.

Tobirama feels _very_ stupid right now.

“There’s no counter jutsu,” he says, defeated, as he swats away the hand Madara’s been waving in front of him to get his attention. “And my memory of it is too muddled for me to develop one right now. And, uh…”

Tobirama looks to the side. The opened book on flora evolution Anija had once left him for casual reading suddenly seems extremely interesting.

“And?” Madara demands. Tobirama catches him trembling with ill-suppressed anger from the corner of his eye.

“And it might not even be possible,” Tobirama says, feeling like he’s admitting to a grievous crime on a trial.

“WHAT?” Madara grabs him by his collar, then promptly releases him and leaps back when the motion makes Tobirama’s pants fall off, leaving him covered only by his overlarge shirt. “Just—fucking— _cover yourself,_ godsdammit, and find new clothes, and _do you seriously mean we’re stuck like this forever?!”_

Tobirama doesn’t understand the fuss, really—the shirt works almost like a yukata with his current height. He adjusts his pants the best he’s able anyway, tying his obi tighter to hopefully hold them together somewhat.

“No,” Tobirama replies, once he decides he’s had enough of the pleasure of watching Madara’s eye twitch, “I have every reason to believe it will wear off on its own. This was never intended as a permanent jutsu,” he explains, “but the problem, apart from setting some kind of temporal limit for the effect, I never found a way to properly set the scale and flow of the time manipulation. Hence it just remained random and apparently reverted us... ten years back, I guess?” Tobirama glances at himself in the dusty mirror at the far wall. “I seem to be thirteen.” Once again, the foggy adult part of his brain seemed to be particularly unsettled by that age.

“Random,” Madara echoes, “so it could have, theoretically, turned us back into fetuses?”

Tobirama blinks. Bites his bottom lip. Then sighs and admits, “Yes. But we’re lucky?”

“Gods _damn_ you, Senju, why, why, _why_ did I ever think it was a good idea to become your friend?” Madara wails.

Tobirama frowns. The spike of _hurt_ and _disappointment_ and a tinge of _guilt_ strikes stronger now, and he has to forcibly avert his thoughts from the feeling.

 _Irrelevant,_ he thinks, _just concentrate on the task at hand._

“So you’re saying,” Madara continues, “that we’re stuck like this for gods know how long and you, dumbass extraordinaire _,_ have no idea how to fix it?” Madara’s voice rises in pitch with every word and he seems to be a little short of breath. Tobirama hopes he won’t have to deal with a panic attack of some sort. He hates those. “None _at_ _all?”_

Tobirama looks over his hopeless notes again. He’s never been much of a procrastinator like his Anija is, but this experiment seemed to be a very unfortunate exception to that principle. The inevitable price he has to pay for messing around with ‘impossible’ concepts—some of them are bound to be just that and have to be left abandoned.

“You see,” Tobirama says, “this is a… very incomplete seal. As in, dangerously incomplete. As in, we’re not just fortunate we weren’t turned into fetuses, we’re lucky we weren’t torn apart atom by atom, Madara.”

Silence hangs in the room, every second of it damning until Madara shatters it with another long-suffering groan.

“Goddamn you, stupid, idiot Senju!” Tobirama would _really_ appreciate it if Madara stopped with the verbal assaults. But they pale in comparison to memories of his father’s angry outbursts, much too clearer in his head now, so he stays silent. “All right then, let’s go to the witch, I guess,” Madara suggests, “so she can fix _your mistake._ ”

And here he goes again.

“First of all, Mito would be useless and secondly, don’t shift the blame entirely on me, Madara.” Tobirama narrows his eyes. “This wouldn’t have happened If you’d just kept your hands to yourself. I don’t even remember the reason you ended up in my lab in the first place.”

“I was making sure you ate, bastard,” Madara snaps, “because apparently I’m friends with a dumbass who cares more about his stupid experiments than his own health!” He shakes his head. “And what do you mean she’ll be useless? Why, isn’t she almost as good at this jutsu theory stuff as you are?”

“Correct. But this is a time manipulation seal,” Tobirama admits in a small voice.

Madara glares at him.

“Let me guess, it’s not her specialty, and it’s probably never even been done before, so _no one_ can help us?”

“Pretty much, yes,” Tobirama says, completely unimpressed with Madara’s ensuing bout of swearing, “and space-time manipulation is strictly forbidden in fūinjutsu because it’s thought to be impossible. I was already pushing my luck with the Hiraishin, actually.”

“Tobirama.” Madara’s warm hands are on his shoulders, and black eyes, suddenly too close, stare into Tobirama’s with all the pain and exasperation he’s is used to seeing from Anija. “ _Why_?”

“The Hiraishin worked, didn’t it?” Tobirama crossed his arms defensively, looking away. “And it requires some tampering with time too, to make up for time dilation across long distances anyway, so I thought I’d just isolate that effect, but… well.” He scrunches his nose. “Maybe there’s a good reason some things are forbidden,” Tobirama recites Anija’s favorite adage through gritted teeth.

Madara’s hands tighten on his shoulders before he releases Tobirama, takes a deep breath and sinks onto the floor again, burying his head in his hands.

Such a flare for dramatics. Tobirama only rolls his eyes.

“But what’s done is done,” he says, “and I propose we wait it out and observe the reversion process.”

“Even now you want to _observe_ and _experiment_ when our lives may be in danger!” Madara wails.

“They aren’t!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I’m fairly certain!”

“Were you fairly certain this jutsu was going to work properly someday?” Madara asks wryly. “Where did your certainty lead you, huh, Senju?”

They glare at each other again, before Madara huffs and returns to his whining.

“This is terrible. I’m screwed. We’re _both_ screwed. And—oh no, _Izuna_ is going to have to be acting Clan Head now,” Madara says with an expression so horrified one might think he’s seen the Shinigami.

Tobirama doesn’t get the reaction—Izuna is a dear friend and much more reasonable than Madara on most matters, if dangerously prone to joining Anija for his frequent pranking sprees.

“And Hashirama won’t complete one scrap of paperwork without _you_ badgering him to do it,” Madara continues, and now _that_ … is a problem, Tobirama has to concede. “Not only is my _clan_ screwed, but the _whole village_ is screwed, and we have no idea for how long! Fucking incredible.”

“Right.” Tobirama shuffles on his feet. He really isn’t good with calming and comforting words, so he decides to focus on the most pressing matter at hand.

That is: _Anija must_ never _find out about this._

Tobirama kneels down to face Madara properly.

“Listen, we may return to normal tomorrow, or maybe in a month.” Madara flinches at that. “But I’m sure everything will turn out fine and we won’t suffer any lasting effects,” Tobirama adds quickly, trying for a smile he hopes looks reassuring instead of nervous, “the seal matrix wasn’t that convoluted, and there weren’t any hidden variables in the...” Madara’s blank expression belies his ignorance of basic seal theory, so instead, Tobirama says, “Regardless, I need you to trust me with what we have to do next, okay?”

“Oh?” Madara raises an eyebrow. “Trust someone who spends his free time tinkering with forbidden and impossible concepts, knowing full well that he’ll mess it all up?”

Madara really doesn’t have to be so rude.

“Yes,” Tobirama parries, “like I trusted you enough, for some reason, to let you into my lab, knowing full well that you’ll mess _something_ up.”

Madara tries to throw a punch at him but Tobirama jumps to the side and out of the way, maneuvering so Madara’s clothes further restrict him. Tobirama refrains from chuckling. And _he’s_ supposed to be the younger child here.

“I swear,” Madara hisses, trying to extricate his arm from the depths of his sleeve, “you’re the single most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m pretty sure that would have to be Anija,” Tobirama corrects him, offended. “Who, by the way, _cannot_ find out any of this happened. Which is why we have to leave.”

“L-leave?” Madara splutters.

“Yes, leave. Run. Immediately,” Tobirama says firmly, “until we’re back to normal again. Otherwise, Anija’s going to lock down my lab, probably declare _all_ my work kinjutsu and forbid me from experimenting _ever_ again.” Tobirama sighs. “He, kind of, was… really close to his last straw last time a jutsu went wrong and he promised to do all that, but if he does, Madara, I’ll literally _die_ of boredom.”

Tobirama tries for his best pleading gaze. Madara seems unaffected. Maybe a bit more annoyed.

“And what happened last time,” he asks, tentative, as if he’s uncertain whether he really wants to know, “last time one of your accursed jutsu went wrong?”

Tobirama blinks.

“I accidentally raised the dead.”

“Godsdammit, Senju,” Madara groans. “Why in the world would you—”

“I can’t tell you why,” Tobirama cuts in, annoyed, “it was an accident, weren’t you listening?”

“Not the point!”

“Then what is?”

Madara rises to his feet again and jabs an accusing finger at Tobirama’s chest.

“The point, Senju, is that _you_ are a menace to society _and_ a danger to yourself. So nobody’s leaving and we’re both going to find Hashirama and Mito so they at least help us manage this whole mess.”

“No!” Tobirama panics. “You can’t do that! Madara, Anija’s going to take away everything from me for who knows how long, and I’m going to go insane!”

“Nope,” Madara says with a smirk, “it’ll do you good. I’m fairly certain.”

“Madara, listen,” Tobirama implores, “we’re friends, right? And friends are supposed to help each other, isn’t that how it works?”

Unfortunately, Anija is the master manipulator and persuader in their family, and in this case, Tobirama doesn’t even have sincerely logical arguments to back up his position. But is it truly selfish to want to retain his intellectual wellness and sanity?

“I _am_ helping,” Madara replies, “I am helping you retain your well-being and keep yourself safe and sound. So you’re not running away, you’re coming with me and the only concession I’m willing to make is us explaining this to Hashirama _together._ ”

As if that’d make it better. Anija would probably have a daylong scolding ready for Madara for not keeping his little brother out of danger. Tobirama would like to see Madara handle that.

He flinches.

Or, well, he rather wouldn’t.

Which is why he quickly moves to block Madara’s way when the Uchiha makes for the exit with a determined look on his face.

“If we run away,” Tobirama tries again, opting to list the benefits this time, “imagine what we could do! Travel wherever, do whatever we want, whenever we want. You’re always whining about your Clan Head duties—”

“I do _not_ —”

“And this could be your—Madara, _stop struggling_ —your, uh, well-overdue vacation?” Tobirama suggests, holding onto Madara’s wrists to keep him from moving.

It’s good that Madara doesn’t seem to have hit his growth spurt phase yet; when Anija had that advantage over Tobirama, it was all but impossible to restrict his movements in any way.

“No,” Madara shatters his hopes. Again. He wrestles his hands free and crosses his arms, glowering at Tobirama from above. Tobirama glares back, cursing his unusually short height for this age. “And since when are you so irresponsible?”

“Since my life and mental stability depend on Anija not finding out!”

Madara’s lips quirk up in a grin.

“And people call me dramatic,” he says, “you’re worse than your brother was as a kid.”

“I am _not_ ,” Tobirama protests, knowing full well that Madara is full of shit, “I am being practical. If we just deal with it ourselves, we won’t cause any trouble. In fact, I think Anija’s still severely traumatized because of Edo Tensei and this might give him a stroke or something! So—I’m trying to take care of his mental health too.”

“Where would we even go?” Madara throws up his hands. “And—you _named_ that death jutsu? You actually _repeated_ your _accidental_ raising the dead feat?”

“Any city,” Tobirama perks up, “any Country, even. With good enough disguises, no one will suspect a thing. And Edo Tensei _is_ a useful technique. Anija made it kinjutsu, but it _can_ be used ethically and efficiently,” Tobirama declares, crossing his arms. “Somewhat,” he adds as an afterthought.

Madara stares at Tobirama for a long moment, and for a split second, Tobirama thinks he’s won. But,

“I’m out,” Madara says, moving past Tobirama towards the door again. “I’m going to behave like the reasonable adult you obviously aren’t and _do the right thing._ ”

Tobirama growls under his breath and resists the urge to stomp his foot, as that would inadvertently prove Madara’s stupid point.

He does, however, resort to a bit of an underhanded tactic as his last remaining option.

Desperate times, and all that.

“Remember that group of dōjutsu hunters from two years’ back? The ones that kidnapped Kagami that time?”

That particular memory isn’t muddied by the jutsu, leading Tobirama to believe that all emotionally charged memories remain unaffected. By the way Madara stops in his tracks, it seems to be the same for him as well.

That debacle happened not too long after Konohagakure’s founding, and it was the first time Tobirama and Madara had worked on anything together, actually. It was surprising how seamless their two-man team functioned, hunting part of the squad down and killing each offender just before the shinobi were about to remove Kagami’s newly awakened Sharingan. He still remembers how fascinated he was seeing Madara fight against a shared enemy, not having to worry about his clanmates’ well-being, the taciturn yet sincere praise he’d received from Madara after the fact. This first unofficial mission of theirs kick-started their tentative tolerance of each other, which later grew into an unexpected friendship as they discovered their _many_ similarities.

And one of those similarities was an unconditional hatred of anyone who’d dare to harm a child. So, Tobirama presses on,

“The group we know is affiliated with Kiri’s special forces but can’t do anything to them on behalf of the village or draw any suspicion unless—”

“’We have substantial, undoubtable proof,’” Madara spits out, quoting Anija’s strict orders. The two of them were sorely disappointed at having their hands tied, but Anija was, as always, concerned with peace first and foremost, and so they couldn’t afford to act recklessly. “I remember.”

Madara turns around on his heel to face Tobirama again, considering.

“So what do you propose we do?” he asks, as if he can’t read the intent on Tobirama’s face.

“I propose we find each member of the group and dismember them,” Tobirama says cheerfully. “A couple of rogue kids unaffiliated with a village and leaving little to no trace isn’t as suspicious as hunting them down as adults with our distinctive chakra, which is much less potent now,” Tobirama reasons. “You can sense mine dulled down significantly, right? It’ll be easy to mask it, infiltrate their ranks and swiftly eliminate each and every one of them.” He shrugs. “Or slowly and painfully, if you’re so inclined.”

“Hn.”

Judging by the fire gleaming in Madara’s gaze, he is _definitely_ so inclined. Even so, Madara goes on staring at him appraisingly, and a few moments pass in tense silence before his lips twist into a devastating grin.

“Fine, Senju, you have yourself an accomplice. But you’d better make sure I don’t regret siding with you on this, got it?” Madara’s tone is deeper, more threatening, reminiscent of his adult way of speech.

He still looks stupid in those overly big clothes, though.

“Got it,” Tobirama promises with a grin of his own, his insides thrumming in excitement at his hard-won victory as Madara begrudgingly shakes his hand.

It isn’t just the fact that Madara agreed with his plan; it’s the first time in his memory that Madara has chosen _Tobirama_ over Anija, over his best friend. It feels immensely satisfying, a victory all on its own, though a bit confusing, too.

As if it isn’t enough that he and Madara did end up becoming friends, despite the constant bickering and rivalry. As if Tobirama wants Madara to consider him a closer friend than Anija, however stupid and unattainable that sounds. Tobirama shakes away the thoughts, leaving them for later consideration or none at all.

He’s got more important things to do.


	2. Hide and Seek II: Madara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maddy boy's POV this time :D He may be suffering a bit more than Tobi lmao
> 
> Enjoy!

Madara is fidgeting. It’s extremely annoying.

A habit he hasn’t quite shaken since his teen years but has learned to curtail as he grew older, adopting more of his clanmates’ usual stoicism. Now that he’s stuck in his teenage body, he finds that the constant hyperactive buzz in his brain is increasingly hard to manage without cracking his knuckles every couple of seconds, that his palms are much more prone to sweating and his patience reserves virtually nonexistent.

“Stupid Senju,” he hisses at the empty lab Tobirama left him in to go search for clothing and other necessary supplies.

Madara roams around the laboratory, aimless but cautious, sighing and talking out loud, trying to convince himself that this is a good plan.

Everything would be all right.

Probably.

After all, the worst that could happen is they’ll be stuck in their de-aged forms for… a _few months_ and will have to explain away their delay by something more probable than a self-assigned mission.

Well, technically, the worst-case scenario may be the jutsu glitching somehow and their bodies ending up torn apart at the seams of space-time but—

Madara tries with all his might to keep his thoughts from straying in that direction. Deep breaths. Thoughts of home, warm fireplaces. The earthy scent of freshly steeped tea.

And fidgeting. With his fingers and clothes because he’s sure as hell not touching _anything_ in Tobirama’s lab _ever_ again.

(Even if the experiments do look interesting. And colorful. And _fun._ )

Eventually, he grows tired of pacing and hauls himself onto a chair, lifting his knees and wrapping his arms around them as he surveyed his offending surroundings.

It’s incredible how much _stuff_ is in here. It isn’t just jutsu notes, and experimental constructs, and vials with substances of colors known and unknown to Madara. There are also books on history, art, classic chemistry and the Western practice of alchemy, several calligraphy sets and charcoal pencils strewn about in the most inaccessible looking nooks and crannies, some strange metallic constructions with wires arranged in intricate patterns inside them (some of those glowing intermittently, which is a bit creepy), dozens of crystal spheres Madara honestly can’t think of any use for, and so on and so forth.

And it’s all a mess, of course, because no matter how organized Tobirama appears at first sight, Madara knows he barely manages to keep his chaotic life intact.

Tobirama may never miss important political meetings but is never on time for any casual outing (as Madara knows very well from Izuna, who often tries to drag Tobirama away from work and his questionable hobbies into the bustle of society). He is also, apparently, as far from a morning person as someone can get, what with his constant all-nighters. And no matter where he goes, there always seems to be a kid or two—or several—whom Tobirama helps or amuses or intrigues in some way. Which inevitably leads to distraction and him being late to one meeting or another—or leaving the village entirely on an impromptu field trip.

As of now, Tobirama (or, well, the adult version of Tobirama) has two whole genin teams under his apprenticeship and frequently acts as babysitter for so many civilian children that Madara would be surprised if there is a child left in Konoha who doesn’t know Senju Tobirama. Former White Blade of the Senju, now, evidently, cuddly teddy bear to any child in need of an awesome, understanding _and_ fun adult.

He’s a walking, talking, _stupid_ contradiction and Madara will insist on that last characteristic until his dying day. Even though, admittedly, the first thing he’d noticed about Tobirama—as a person and not just a faceless threat to his brother—was his sharp wit and intelligence.

Madara shakes his head in an attempt to shoo away such thoughts. There is an inherent danger he can feel in thinking about Tobirama’s best qualities. With the jumbled memories he now has thanks to the jutsu, his fallout with Hashirama rings clear in his memory as if it happened a year ago, but also strikingly vivid is the image of Tobirama as the insane but brilliant ( _insanely brilliant,_ his brain unhelpfully supplies) adult he grew up to be.

A recent image of the man springs in his mind. Tobirama, hunched over one of his more complex constructs with sets of vials and scales and watches all interconnected, turning to greet Madara with a smile coupled with a raised eyebrow. Madara’s name ringing in his deep baritone with an inflection that makes Madara feel warm and tingly as he remembers it. Fortunately, the memory abruptly cuts off and Madara can’t recall one bit of himself apparently touching the seal that led to this whole mess.

Fortunately, because remembering Tobirama as an adult makes Madara feel all kinds of weird. He shakes his head again and cracks all the knuckles in his fingers for good measure. It isn’t rare for him to be confused by unidentifiable emotions, but no less annoying now that he feels so detached from his adult life and doubly baffled by the fact that he feels warm all over because of the memory of a dimpled smile.

_Ugh._

Where is the little pipsqueak anyway? Seeing Tobirama as a skinny, jumpy little kid with his hair sticking up in all directions is infinitely more preferable. If only because he’s _finally_ shorter than Madara.

At least one thing has been set right in the universe, however briefly.

 _Speak of the bijū_ , Madara recalls the ancient saying as Tobirama rushes through the front door, as if in answer to Madara’s thoughts. Dressed appropriately now in dark blues and a light haori thrown over his shoulders, Tobirama drops his unassuming henge and greets Madara with a look of utter relief.

“I was a little afraid you’d left,” he says in reply to Madara’s questioning frown, “I wondered if I should have left one of my summons with you.”

Madara scoffs. “I wouldn’t bail on you like that.”

“Good.” Tobirama unseals one of the storage scrolls he’s carrying in his hands, throwing the contents at Madara. “A change of clothes. I’ve got all other necessary supplies with me here,” he waves the other scrolls, “and I suppose I’ll take some reading with me; maybe I’ll manage to find some clue on how to fix this somewhere...”

That last statement sounded doubtful. Madara scowls. Nevertheless, he stays silent, examining his new attire, pleasantly surprised that Tobirama had, apparently, went to the Uchiha district to purchase traditional clan clothes for him.

“I thought we were supposed to be discreet?” Madara gestures at the clothing.

Tobirama snaps his head to look at him from where he’s ruffling through a whole mountain range of book heaps. “Oh. Well, I thought it’d be comforting for you to have something of your clan’s when we’re not around people. I’ve got plain spare clothes packed already.” He turns back to the books. “We’re spending tonight near Konoha since it’s late evening already. And you returned from a mission just this afternoon, haven’t you? We’d best get some rest before traveling to another settlement.”

Madara honestly feels shocked that Tobirama remembered, much less _cared_ but finds himself too thankful to complain or take offense at the implication that he’s too tired to travel. He’s had to get used to covering long distances when exhausted, as all shinobi do, but the promise of rest seems heavenly, especially after the trauma of ending up in a body he was supposed to have outgrown ten years ago.

Ten years ago. He’s sixteen. Possibly for a long enough time for him to turn _seven_ teen.

The implication hits him again, _hard_. Madara forces himself to speak to distract himself.

“Uh, and where in Konoha are we staying for the night?” he mumbles.

“In my personal hiding place,” Tobirama announces, dumping another bunch of tomes into a storage scroll, “we can’t stay there long, however.” He seals the scroll closed and stands up, yes shifting around the room as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “The trees there are far too young to be able to talk to Anija, but one can never be too careful.”

 _That_ brings Madara fully back to the present.

“He _talks_ to trees? As in, actual conversations?”

“Yes,” Tobirama says, now packing all the scrolls into the backpack that’s far too big for his height and then setting out to double check anything he might have left. “It’s annoying.”

“Tch. I figured,” Madara says. “So, what, they can tell him _anything_?”

“The older ones, that are all mature and have evolved over generations, they’re the absolute worst,” Tobirama explains. “They share visions, spread their roots everywhere and eavesdrop and can basically report everything they see, hear or sense to him.” He pauses to consider a long scroll with notes around what appears to be sketches of planetary orbits before sighing and placing them back on the table. “It’s actually a stupid three-hundred-year old oak that ratted me out with the Edo Tensei incident.”

It’s amusing to watch Tobirama fluttering about as he speaks, and Madara realizes, with no small measure of satisfaction, that Tobirama is even more fidgety than he is. Especially when he’s talking, using his hands as dozens of emotions flit across his face with each moment.

It’s endearing, Madara supposes. _Almost_ endearing, he corrects himself.

“Well?” Tobirama has apparently finished checking everything over and turns to stare at Madara expectantly. “What are you waiting for?”

“ _Well,”_ Madara drawls, once more raising the clothes he’s holding, “I need to change.”

Tobirama frowns. “Yes? That’s the point.” He tilts his head to the side, making his wild mane of hair follow the motion. Madara can’t help but chuckle. “Why are you stalling?”

“I’m not, Senju,” he says. “I need to change,” he enunciates, “but you’re right there!”

“And?”

“Ugh.” Madara throws his clothes onto the chair, stalks up to Tobirama, wrenches him around to face the wall and sprints back to his chair to finally exchange his enormous garments for a surprisingly fitting high-collar shirt and breeches, and a pleasantly warm haori branded with an uchiwa. He glances at himself in the mirror. Not perfect, because nothing really looked stylish on this still lanky body, but not half-bad, he supposes. “Hm. Comfortable enough,” he says. “You can turn around now.”

Tobirama does, clearly confused by Madara’s behavior, but fuck him, honestly! Madara values his privacy, and he’ll do what he wants.

Well, to the extent that he’s able in a body that probably isn’t even fit enough to summon his perfect Susanoo. Suddenly, Hashirama’s frequent depression spells seem much more relatable.

“Let’s go then.”

Madara stays put.

“Senju,” Madara drawls, just as Tobirama heads for the door, “ _you_ packed all the things and belongings that _you_ need. But what about _my_ … reading?” he asks. “Or, well, hairbrushes…” he struggles to remember something else of importance he might have use for. “And weapons! My gunbai—I need that.”

Tobirama looks unimpressed.

“You actually brush your hair?” he asks.

“Hey!”

“It’s shorter now, why would you need to do that anyway?”

“It’s hard taking care of it,” Madara insists, “and stop laughing!”

Tobirama blinks. “I’m not laughing.”

“You want to,” Madara says, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, yes,” Tobirama has the _nerve_ to admit, “because you’re acting foolish. We have no time to waste, and you can pick up a hairbrush and the weapons you want once we get to another city.”

“That,” Madara says, “is not fair. If you get to hoard your things before we leave, possibly for _months_ , I get to stop by my house for just a few minutes. I can sneak past Izuna—and he’s probably on a date with Tōka at this hour anyway.”

Tobirama cringes, probably unsettled by the concept of anyone wooing his older cousin.

“Too conspicuous,” he says. “Your gunbai is unique and will be easy to notice.”

“I can paint over the markings.” Madara shrugs. “I’ll just say I stole one from the Uchiha. Or I’ll take my kama. Or my big cutting shuriken,” he quotes the way Hashirama frequently dubs them as their inside joke.

Of course, Tobirama latches onto that. “Isn’t _cutting_ _shuriken_ a bit redundant?”

Madara chuckles. “You wouldn’t get it. Point is, Senju, let me stop by my house for two godsdamned minutes. Then I’ll go with you. Wherever. Willingly.”

“Without complaining?” Tobirama asks.

Madara considers it. The possibility of Tobirama’s hiding place being an adequate living space is slim, given the man’s—kid’s—penchant for chaos and messiness, but since they’ll only spend one night there, Madara decides he can hold in his ire.

“Five minutes, then,” he concedes, “and you won’t hear one single complaint from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give you one guess as to whether Madara keeps his promise XD


	3. Hide and Seek III: Tobirama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the best way to read this chapter is read the last two paragraphs of Chapter 2, then come straight into this one x) sorry for the longer wait!

“WHY THE FUCK,” Madara shouts in a whisper, somehow making the words sound louder than his normal voice and therefore defeating the whole purpose of keeping quiet, “DID YOU BRING US INTO THE FOREST OF DEATH, YOU MORON?!”

Tobirama simply rolls his eyes. He knew this would happen. And _to think_ he let Madara waltz around at his place, for _ten_ minutes no less. He was probably hoarding useless things like hairbrushes and subpar literature, wasting precious time _and_ forcing Tobirama to run circles around a snooping Kagami who really shouldn’t have been out and about at such a late hour.

He should have known Madara wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.

“First of all, Madara, you are a liar.”

“Wh-what?” Madara had the gall to sound offended.

Tobirama stops in his tracks and jabs an accusing finger at Madara’s chest.

“You broke the one promise you made to me, which is why I am never going to do things your way _ever_ again,” Tobirama says, still lamenting the way his voice sounds high-pitched and completely unthreatening. Thirteen really is the worst age to end up with. “Second, evidently I brought you here because this is where my hiding place is located. We’re just on the outskirts and near here is a grove with the safer trees where I built my private place to hide from Anija. It’s perfectly safe and—Madara? Are you all right?”

Something definitely seems to be wrong since Madara is staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, somewhere behind Tobirama, raising a shaking finger to point to whatever he was seeing. Tobirama turns, suddenly alert because his senses haven’t picked up on anything, only to see Yamiyo staring wide-eyed at him.

“Oh, it’s you,” he laughs, “hello, Yamiyo. I always forget how elusive your chakra is.” Tobirama extends his hand, which the black-grey foamy creature instantly rushes towards for cursory petting. “How are you adjusting to life here?”

Yamiyo crackles something in their peculiar staccato language and Tobirama infers the meaning from the speed of the beats and the emotions flashing in their giant, ever expressive eyes.

“It’s good to hear you’re doing good,” Tobirama says, “now, this is a friend of mine.” He points to Madara, glancing over his shoulder to the man—well, boy—standing frozen and pale as a sheet. “His name is Madara and he’s a bit shy. Don’t mind him.”

Yamiyo doesn’t, only giving Madara a quick once-over before focusing on Tobirama once more, asking about their second favorite human.

“No, Hashirama won’t be visiting today,” Tobirama says, “or at least, he wasn’t planning to. I’m actually hiding from him, so if he does suddenly show up, please keep him away from my place, okay?”

Yamiyo nods, wrapping their tendrils around Tobirama’s shoulders in their version of a hug, before drifting back into the darkness to roam the shadows as they love doing in nighttime.

“Yamiyo, much like Anija’s trees, has got eyes everywhere, in every shadow,” Tobirama explains, shaking Madara’s shoulders to will him out of his stupor—as best as he’s able to, that is, what with his considerably lower height. “So Anija definitely won’t find us. Yamiyo likes me more.” He smiles, hopefully encouraging Madara to do the same.

Madara, as always, is contrary, twisting his face into a grimace instead.

“What the fuck,” Madara repeats his favorite phrase, “was that—that _thing_? It was fucking enormous, and _the tentacles_ , and the dark, and the _eyes_.” Madara flails, as he is often won’t to do, and Tobirama notices his fingers shaking slightly. “Was that a _demon_ , Senju?”

 _Demon Senju_ , his battle-earned moniker rings in Tobirama’s head. He banishes it away.

“No. That was Yamiyo, a creature I found on the outskirts of Lightning Country when I traveled there to a conference last month,” Tobirama tells him, motioning for Madara to follow as the latter finally regains his ability to move. “I’m not sure what species they are, exactly, but they’re very peculiar and they told us there’s more of their kind, somewhere.” He gives Madara, who’s still trembling and walking very close beside him, a sideways glance. “They’re not a demon or a spirit; they would have had some kind of chakra, if so. And they’re affectionate and completely harmless.”

“How many more monsters in this forest are your pets?” Madara asks, scanning his surroundings. “I thought this wood was already infested with them when we built the village here.”

“All of them,” Tobirama answers, “it’s actually Anija who made this forest, just like the one in the Senju compound when we were kids. They’re actually all animals we’ve found in our travels since we were little and kind of—adopted.”

“Adopted,” Madara repeats incredulously, “adopted… literal monsters? Why?”

“They’re not monsters,” Tobirama snaps, jumping up onto the branches as they reach a thicker mass of trees, “they’re kind, innocent, abandoned animals that we’ve given a home.” And, just to be a little shit, he adds, “Don’t let them hear you insult them. They won’t attack you if you’re with me, but only if you behave.”

That shuts Madara up. Perfect. They travel the remaining mile or so to Tobirama’s peaceful grove, where he presents his modest, carefully disguised house perched up on a moss-covered cliff. Madara seems unimpressed, still darting his head around to look for the scary ‘monsters’ who are probably secretly laughing at him.

“You do whatever you want,” Tobirama announces, “but I’m going inside.”

Madara scurries after him wordlessly and heaves a drawn-out sigh of relief as they enter the cozy space which Tobirama lights up with miniscule Katon directed to the lamps and the fireplace. He hadn’t bothered to install electricity here, since electromagnetic fields seemed to disagree with most of the animals. Letting out a relieved breath of his own, Tobirama flops on the futon, throws his travel bag to the nearest corner and stares at the ceiling, contemplating the slim possibility of the jutsu losing its effect tomorrow morning.

Anija was always lucky, with everything, it seemed. Tobirama—not so much.

“I saw eyes,” Madara complains, “ _many_ eyes, watching me.”

Tobirama turns on his side to watch Madara pace around the spacious room, checking the door to the bathroom warily as if he expects Yamiyo to be hiding there.

“They’re perfectly harmless.”

“You’re saying none of those m—creatures ever acted out? Tried to bite your head off? It is called the Forest of Death for a reason you know.” Madara says, dropping onto the floor himself and crossing his arms and legs, picture perfect of petulance.

“It’s called that by our stupid clansmen who insist on morbid rumors and spread the name around even now,” Tobirama tells him with no small measure of annoyance. “We called the woods back at the compound The Forest of Life. Our friends never kill anyone for no reason.”

Madara’s gaze remains suspicious.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t,” Tobirama says cheerfully. “I, like you, sometimes say things I don’t mean. For example—Madara, you’re really smart,” he offers with a wry smile.

Madara growls. “Asshole.”

“Liar.”

“Why didn’t you just use Hiraishin to teleport us here?” Madara dodges the accusation. “Less traumatizing me, less chances of Hashirama spotting us.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes and shrugs.

“The Hiraishin requires very precise and streamlined chakra control.” He looks at his hands, concentrating chakra in his palms, the energy so much more erratic and— _slippery_ seemed like the right word. “I don’t think I could manage that at this age,” he admits quietly.

Madara stares at him for a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “Hn,” he sympathizes, letting the room fall back into quiet.

Tobirama tries to get his mind to calm for a while and to _think_ , while Madara keeps fidgeting, making _Tobirama_ want to do the same, in turn. The sheer wildfire that is his chakra doesn’t make peace any more achievable.

“Want food?” Tobirama offers listlessly, hoping that dinner, at least, will distract Madara enough so that he’ll stop being that much of a distraction.

“You brought rations?”

“Enough to last us a few weeks,” Tobirama says, standing to walk towards his backpack and retrieve their flimsy excuse for a meal, “though I’d appreciate it if we hunted or bought more amenable food along the way.”

“Did you bring money?” Madara asks.

 _Anija takes care of that,_ Tobirama wants to say, stopping himself just in time. _Oh._

He silently puts one ration container in front of Madara and another for himself, sitting across from him on the floor; the single table in the room is invisible due to the sheer number of Tobirama’s research notes that practically form a paper mountain range over it.

“No,” Tobirama admits in a small voice. “Just the Ryō left from the clothes shopping.”

This has Madara laughing without much genuine mirth.

“Great. We’re stock full of books about, what was it, quantum physics? And have little to no money. Genius,” he sneered.

“Quantum physics might be the key to unlocking the jutsu’s potential,” Tobirama protests, catching himself too late, “and, uh, reversing its effect, of course.”

“Right.”

“We can always steal food.”

“Uh huh.” Madara’s shit-eating grin is a nice change from his anxiety-ridden scowl, but far from appreciated.

“Or earn money with missions,” Tobirama continues, as Madara goes on smirking. “What’s your problem?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m just glad I keep being proven right about your level of intelligence,” Madara quips, and Tobirama has to resist the urge to kick him.

_Play nice._

“Eat, Uchiha,” Tobirama grits through his teeth, muttering a quick ‘Itadakimasu’ at the same time Madara does, and starts to inhale his food, suddenly aware of how empty his stomach is.

Madara came to his lab to make sure he ate, he’d said. Tobirama has trouble remembering when he’d actually had a meal last, actually, before yet another one of his research binges today. Probably best not to think about it too much.

Ignoring the suddenly agitated feel of Madara’s chakra, he shifts his focus to thinking up something akin to a plan. They haven’t really thought about where they’d go after this. Three settlements not too far off come to mind, but they’re all lie in the west, in the direction of the Country of Rain, and if they want to catch the roaming Kiri dōjutsu hunting squads, they’re going to have to move into the opposite direction, where cities are scarce and the land covered mostly by forests. Even if they run for the whole day, they’ll have to stop for the night in the wilderness before they reach the nearest town. Not ideal, but passable and convenient enough to further their self-imposed mission.

Tobirama sighs as Madara’s chakra spikes even more, even as his face remains more or less impassive. He’s probably ruminating on something along a similar vein. They really need to tread carefully from now on.

The Hiraishin taking them to the marker he’d placed on the eastern border would also be quite the convenience right now, he laments. But Tobirama won’t risk getting split by the space-time continuum _again_. Even he has to admit one such experience is enough for a day.

For a week at least, really.

And of course, Tobirama wouldn’t want to upset his Anija more than he already has. Even now, fleeing from him feels wrong and Tobirama has trouble suppressing the guilt gnawing at him from the inside, berating him for indulging his selfish desires for the adrenaline of experimentation and the dark satisfaction of revenge. Anija need not find out, ever, but as always, it takes a toll on Tobirama’s conscience to be lying to his closest person. His only friend for a long while, during childhood—the very childhood he remembers so clearly now, a dark time mired with warfare, where his brother was his only guidance, his only light.

“Ugh, stop sulking, I’m sorry!” Madara explodes, decimating his empty contained with an impulsive fire jutsu. “It was a minor thing, but I still broke a promise and I won’t do it again, happy?”

His eyes spell murder as the smoke dissipates around him, and his lips are curved in a slight pout, which paints such a hilariously contradicting picture that Tobirama has to smile. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d say the Uchiha was blushing. But some things truly are impossible and that should be one of them, right?

“Okay,” Tobirama says, the word dissolving into chuckles. He isn’t truly as upset about it as he’d made out to be, but this is a nice turn of conversation, for once. “Thank you.”

Madara huffs, crossing his arms again. Tobirama has a suspicion that it’s some kind of defense mechanism.

Now if only he’d apologize for insulting Tobirama so excessively… but, he supposes, small steps at a time are enough.

Tobirama throws his ration box properly into the trash and points at the single futon in the room.

“Take that,” he says, “and go to sleep. We don’t have to wake up early tomorrow, but wake up as early as you can, when you’re fully rested.”

“Spare futon?” Madara questions.

“It’s my personal hideout. There is none,” Tobirama says. “But don’t worry about me, I'll make myself comfortable.”

Tobirama walks towards the window, surveying the forest as Madara slowly starts shedding his outer clothes and weapons. He sends a flare of chakra to Akimi to let her know to come visit and turns back to see Madara covered fully with a blanket with only his eyes visible, watching Tobirama’s every move.

“Good night, Madara,” Tobirama says, long-suffering.

“Uh huh,” Madara replies, tone suspicious.

They stare at each other for a while, before Madara chances to close his eyes, which is exactly the moment Akimi decides to spring inside through the window and almost knock Tobirama to the floor.

 _Hello there,_ he communicates his greeting to her as she sniffs him over and continues trying to tackle him. He restrains her a bit, though, to keep Madara from seeing that the otherwise normal-looking leopard has extra appendages of an unusual variety.

Saying a few calming words to get her to settle down, he directs Akimi to a corner and descends to the floor with her, using her thick fur as a makeshift pillow as he lies down. A glance at Madara shows he’s opened his eyes once more and is staring suspiciously at the display, as if he’s expecting Akimi to attack.

The idiot.

“Good _night,_ Madara,” Tobirama repeats and drifts off to sleep in a matter of seconds.

Unlike _some_ people, Tobirama would like to get proper rest—for the first time in a long while.

Through the dream-like fog of intermingled thoughts and unanswered questions, Tobirama hears (or imagines hearing, which seems more likely), “Good night, Tobirama,” before sleep weighs his consciousness down to get much-awaited rest.

*

The letter is suspicious.

Hashirama stares at it for a long while, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

Its wording is unmistakably Tobirama’s and he’s laced his chakra through the ink and paper to let Hashirama know, for sure, that he’d authored it.

Then again, there’s something so off about the stroke directions and the slanting of the kanji, and it takes Hashirama all of half an hour to realize that he’d only seen his brother’s handwriting styled this way a long, long time ago.

Hint number one.

Although he knows Tobirama and Madara must be long gone on their ‘special assignment’, Hashirama allows himself into Tobirama’s lab in the village’s eastern outskirt. Unbeknown to Tobirama, he’s recently figured out an opening past all the barriers and the steel door and walls Tobirama had exchanged the woodwork for.

Notes and books scattered, as always, colorful vials gleaming in the dim fluorescent lighting Tobirama always leaves for standby. Hashirama inspects the floor, the ceiling, the walls and finds evidence of some kind of action (almost certainly an explosion) having taken place.

Hint number two.

Hashirama then goes straight to the bookshelf he knows is reserved for Tobirama’s finished and unfinished experiments that may be up for consideration as kinjutsu. Hashirama is, unfortunately, intimately familiar with all the madness his brother so adores to create and so has no trouble identifying the missing scroll.

Ah.

_Time manipulation._

Hint number _three_.

A jutsu Tobirama had insisted on researching years ago, despite Mito subtly implying that it was an impossibility beyond reach.

Too bad that Tobirama is inclined to get excited by such notions as _impossible_ , and _beyond reach_ , and especially _danger._ Hashirama supposes that’s exactly what happened here, and Madara was unlucky enough to get dragged into the ensuing mess.

Leaving Izuna as Uchiha Clan Head. Izuna, who is _still_ adamantly mean towards Hashirama despite his frequent attempts at hugging out the remnant hostility between them. Well, at least this will be a catalyst to get to know him better.

Hashirama sighs, taking out a small bottle of his personally crafted moonshine that he always carries around to deal with Tobirama’s special brand of chaos.

“I’m closing down your lab, Otouto,” Hashirama announces to the empty space, “and you’d _better_ come home safe, wherever you’re headed.”

He chugs down his moonshine and walks out of the lab to proceed sealing it, all the while convince himself that he _really_ _doesn’t_ want to increase his risk of turning into a tree by meditating and further deepening his connection with the woods and plants around him.

(He _really_ doesn’t. But he’s running out of ways to keep his blood pressure at bay with his adrenaline junkie of a brother.)

He drives the pessimistic thoughts away. Tobirama is smart after all and should be able to deal with whatever the consequences of his experiment were. _And_ his intelligence should be enough to mitigate Madara’s inherent impulsivity. 

_There’s nothing to worry about_ , Hashirama decides. _They probably won’t get into_ too much _trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the chapter names are actually arc names, I guess? (mini-arcs more like) And all arcs will be split into 2-4 chapters I think (HOPEFULLY, this story won't get away from me.... too much XD)  
> anyway, this was the end of Hide and Seek, aka Arc 1. The next one is: **Friendly Fire**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read! :3 kudos and comments = hugs for these adorable idiots
> 
> ALSO feel free to leave prompts for things you'd like to see later in the story :D I have a MASSIVE plot planned but it's basically sprinkled with all these ridiculous hcs and stories, for which special thanks goes to the wonderful copyninken <3 And any and all additional suggestions welcome :3
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://louiserandom.tumblr.com)


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